Heroic Inspiration
by Sandshrew777
Summary: Like a twig underfoot, something in Will's psyche snapped during his scuffle with Warren, leaving Will distraught and confused. Layla arrives to set things right. Hints of WillLayla.


**Author's Note: Takes place directly after the confrontation between Will and Warren. Enjoy, and please review.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Heck, I barely own my own sanity, so do me a favor and try not to sue me, all right? Cheers. :-)**

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If he were really thinking about it, he could have actually paced a trench into the floor of his room. Of course, he really wasn't concerned about that at the moment, because his mind was on more important things than the structural integrity of the floor. 

Like attempted murder.

He hadn't meant to do it.

It was all Lash's fault, tripping him up in the cafeteria so that his tray went so conveniently flying onto the school badboy, Warren Peace. Warren stood up, he tried to explain, but it fell upon deaf ears.

Then, the fight began.

Or, rather, Warren started laying into him and he desperately tried to find somewhere to run and hide. A superpowered pyromaniac versus a freshman with absolutely no fighting ability or power? Yeah, not good.

Looking back, he felt a certain disgust and empathy for the students watching the fight. Instead of helping him out when he was obviously overmatched, they resigned themselves to simple onlookers, eager to watch the proverbial slaughter of the lamb. On the other hand, he understood why they didn't want to come to his aid; Warren was---is---scary. Even an experienced aquakinetic (Was that the right word? He hoped so.) would have taken pause before engaging Warren in battle. Besides, who wanted to help the so-called "mighty" son of the Commander and Jetstream? Nobody roots for the privileged.

The tide turned in all directions when Layla, Zack, and the others tried to stick up for him. He wasn't quite sure what he had done to make such ardent friendships with Magenta and Ethan that first day. Heck, Magenta had practically wanted to rip him a new one when they first met on the bus! What changed their minds?

It could have been that they were all Sidekicks, and thus felt the need to stick together, but why choose him? Why not the other kids, like the girl who turned into a ball, or the guy who could control paper airplanes? Why Will Stronghold?

He couldn't figure it out, but they rebelled against Warren just as devoutly as Layla and Zack, whom he'd known for years. It was that kind of spirit that ignited him, there, underneath the remains of the cafeteria table.

Ethan, the picked-over nerd who knew all the answers and thereby was ostracized for it, melted into a puddle of watery goo when Warren turned on him. To the others, it seemed like he did it because he was scared, but Will saw it as Ethan's way of using his power as best as he could. Scorching a pile of goo is much harder than roasting a cardigan-ed boy, after all.

Magenta, the quintessential goth girl with an embarrassingly cute alter form, pursed her lips but refused to run away when confronted with the terror that Warren was---is. She obviously didn't know what she could do to help, but there she stood, ready to give Will the time he needed to come up with a plan to get out of the danger zone.

Zack, gawky and awkwardly casual, trying so hard to fit in with the common trends despite him sticking out like a sore thumb---like Rudolph with the other reindeer, he realized in a sudden flash of insight---rose to his friend's defense. Even in today's cutthroat society, Zack had learned the ideal of having your friend's back in a fight, even when the odds are tipped against you.

Layla, pacifistic and compassionate, spoke out against Warren. She picked her battles, despite her nonconfrontationalist nature, and fought them with an ardent passion that Will found astounding. Although he could care less about having recycling bins directly next to every trash can in the school (it was a nice idea, really, but weren't there more important things?), the way her eyes blazed as she resolutely made her points to Will one day as they walked home from school entranced him. Somewhere in there a fighter lay, and Will counted himself lucky to have such an awesome friend on his side.

They must have known that, combined, their powers could do little to really stop Warren, but they stood there anyway, prepared for the worst. When he turned on them, flaring up, Will saw in his mind's eye the possible aftermath: Ethan, in human form, skin bubbling and roiling like a pot of boiled potatoes left on the stove for too long; Magenta, as a guinea pig, struggling to breathe through the smoke until her tiny eyes closed in defeat; Zack, caught in the stomach by a fireball, holding his suddenly flaming intestines in his hands, looking up with surprised, tear-filled eyes; Layla, desperately conjuring up plantlife to block Warren's attacks, too afraid and unwilling to fight back, until at last one large ball of flame made it past her viny defenses and struck her in the face, scorching her beyond recognition, a scream of pure, torturous pain slicing into the air...

...and, suddenly, Will was standing, lifting the table and Warren into the air, words tumbling off of his lips in a desperate rage. A moment of surprise caught him as he came to his senses for a moment, realizing what had just happened, and then, on pure instinct, tossed the table and Warren into the wall.

Finally, he thought, it was over. All of the apprehension of the past few days, his worry over not ever developing any powers whatsoever, the fear that his friends would be hurt because they stood up for him, all of that vanished, like a candle being blown out.

Then, like those ridiculous trick candles that his mother thought would be cute to use on every single birthday cake he'd ever had, the flame sparked back into life, and Warren was back on his feet, angrier than ever. Will stepped forward. As he did, he thought he would feel that righteousness his father always talked about, the feeling that you were about to dispense justice upon a truly evil nemesis.

Instead, all he felt was an empty, burning, rage. He wanted to beat Warren senseless for daring to attack his friends. He wanted to let out all of the stress that had been building up inside of him ever since he left the house for Sky High his first day (which, admittedly, wasn't a very long period of time, but that didn't cross his mind then) like a kettle whistling shrilly on the stove. He wanted to rip, to tear, to hit him again and again until he felt that feeling of desperation Will had felt mere moments ago when he thought his friends would be slaughtered because of his inability to say the right thing and calm Warren down before the fight began. He wanted Warren to bleed, to gasp for his last breath as his windpipe was slowly crushed into irreparable oblivion.

The worst part was that instead of feeling repulsed by this need for vengeance, as he did now, he reveled in it. He allowed the rage to fuel him, to guide his clumsy foot-and-handi-work as he delivered blow after blow to the seemingly indestructible Warren Peace, who returned after a particularly vicious hit (wherein Will imagined he ripped off Warren's arm and then used it against him, like a baseball bat) to charge Will, an all-consuming inferno. Will stood ready, the rage screaming at him to step aside at the very last instant and let the idiot charge into the crowd, and despite the fact that his friends could very well be the ones Warren inadvertently scorched, he listened.

Until, that is, Layla screamed his name, and tossed him a fire extinguisher. As it landed in his hands, the gravity of the situation came crashing down onto him. The voice of rage evaporated, and suddenly he was all alone, fumbling with the extinguisher to make it work. In the end, he punched it open in frustration, dousing Warren as Principal Powers arrived on the scene.

Will heard little of what Principal Powers said as they walked out of the cafeteria and to the detention room. His mind, as it had been nearly ever since, dwelled on the fact that he had been ready and willing to mutilate somebody without barely a second thought. The more he thought about it, the more he thought he might throw up, but his gag reflex failed to trigger, even as the gorier scenes flashed through his mind: Zack, holding his intestines that looked like ketchup-covered sausages; Warren, blood pouring from his left arm, thrown backwards by a smash from his very own appendage; Layla, her kind features seeming to smile even as her skin charred and melted away, burning down so far that he could see pieces of her ivory skull protruding.

They arrived at the detention room, and suddenly Will snapped back into reality, firing a half-hearted comment in his defense to Principal Powers, knowing it was fruitless. As she left Warren and him to their own devices, Will turned to Warren. The image of Warren, desperately trying to breathe as Will remorselessly flattened his windpipe, flooded his brain, and he found himself sticking out his hand. He desperately tried to get Warren to come around, to forgive him, pleading with his words and a cheerful demeanor that he managed to somehow summon from within himself, but Warren simply snubbed him, spouting some hollow threat at him.

Will didn't blame him.

The day passed with Will in an auto-piloted haze. He acted as normal as he could, smiling and laughing at all the right times, but he knew he wasn't really fooling anybody. On the bus ride home, Zack plugged in his earphones and listened to his i-Pod instead of engaging Will in conversation about a rapper he liked or the cute girl three seats ahead of them. As Will stared off into space, he failed to notice Zack's almost indiscernable nod to Magenta, who watched the pair as if she were a cat begging to be petted. She settled back into her seat, whispering with Ethan, who stole looks back at Will as often as possible, hoping to catch something that would help him understand why his newfound friend wasn't feeling quite up to par.

Indeed, Will busted through the door to his home slightly out of sync, but hid it underneath a glistening sheen of aloof happiness that he had finally found his powers. He wanted his parents to grill him, to impress upon him just how seriously wrong his actions were, and they played the part perfectly, until his father took him down to the sanctuum and effectively undid all of the parental heavy-dutyness that had gone down upstairs. Will knew he was just trying to be a good, understanding, proud father, but his words cut like fishhooks.

Begging off a game of pool, Will trudged upstairs and abruptly began to pace about his room, his mind regurgitating the gruesome images over and over again, until the sight of all of that blood started to become normal, almost redundant.

It scared him.

It scared him more than the thought that his friends might die for him, and as he recalled how bad that feeling had been, how hopeless he had felt, how he knew it was all his fault, his breakfast found his throat at last, and he ran for the bathroom, retching into the toilet as tears came flying from their ducts. Soon, his stomach ran out of his ammunition, but his body kept trying to reject something, kept trying to repel whatever it was that attacked his psyche so completely.

He shakily reached for the handle to flush the mess down the drain. Leaning back against the wall, legs splayed, he took a few deep breaths to gain back his strength, then brought himself to his feet. He crossed to the sink, cleaned off the remnants on his lips and inside his mouth, eradicating any taste of the disgusting substance with a bright green mouthwash. As he spat, he tried to ignore his pale face, his shallow breaths, and his haunted expression, determined to just return to his room and get some needed rest.

As he turned from shutting his door behind him, he looked out the window to see Layla on his roof, bending down to the window to see if he was inside. He crossed to her quickly, opening the window and crawling out to meet her.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey," he weakly returned, managing a ghost of a smile.

Silence reigned as they listened to the sounds of night falling around them.

"Are you all right?" Layla asked after a while.

Will took a few moments to think before he spoke, remembering how well plunging blindly into conversation with Warren had gone in both instances that day.

"Not really," he admitted, finding himself unable to lie to her. Actions he could try to fool her with, but words never worked.

"Your parents came down hard?" Layla questioned.

"At first. Then Dad took me down to the sanctuum and told me he was proud of me and all that. I think Mom was just ticked off that I didn't get her powers," Will joked lamely. Layla gave him a sympathetic stare, not falling for the easy out of laughter, waiting for Will to continue at his leisure, sensing that he needed a sounding board of sorts.

"I...I kind of wanted them to yell at me, you know? I wanted them to tell me that...what I did...was wrong. Unacceptable. Incomprehensible," Will strained, fighting to find the right words.

"Why?" Layla asked.

"Because! Because that's what it was. I shouldn't have tried to fight Warren, I should have just...just let him burn me to cinders and gotten it over with," Will fired back dejectedly.

"But you didn't," Layla pushed after a moment of silence.

"No, I didn't. I ran away like a little pansy," Will spat, with a venom that made Layla's eyes widen in surprised concern, "And then, when I had nowhere to go, he turned on you guys, and..." Will trailed off, determined not to look at Layla.

"And?" Layla prompted.

"And then I just...I couldn't...let him hurt you guys. I couldn't. And something just...I don't know, snapped," Will admitted, starting to tremor slightly, "And all of a sudden I was strong and...and all I could think about was...making him pay," Will finished, his breathing labored, tears freely streaming down his cheeks.

"That's understandable," Layla comforted, wrapping her right arm around Will, who abruptly stood.

"No, Layla, it's not! Don't you get it? I wanted to...I wanted to...I WANTED TO KILL HIM!" Will screamed, his face distorted into a portrait of anguish. Layla's eyes glittered as she impulsively reached for Will's hands. The second they made contact, Will crumpled to his knees, wrapping his arms around Layla as he wept.

Five minutes later, they broke the embrace, Will leaning back against the house, swiping at his tear-stained visage.

"Look, Will. You're not a bad person," Layla began. Will scoffed.

"You're not," she pressed, "Everybody has a side of them that they...don't like all that much. Mine sounds like my mirror telling me that I'm fat," Layla half-joked, looking away slightly before refocusing on the matter at hand, "But you've just...got to find the silver lining. You got angry at Warren because he was threatening us. I thought it was very brave of you," Layla whispered, taking Will's hands in her own again and squeezing tightly.

"No matter what, Will, you always do the right thing. You wanted...to hurt Warren, badly. But you didn't. You both walked out of that cafeteria almost as good as new," Layla said.

"But what if I don't? What if, next time, I end up hitting someone too hard and I...I..." Will struggled.

"You won't. Your dad can teach you how to control your power, and...and you'll have us around from keeping you into getting into any more stupid fights," Layla joked again, this time eliciting a small grin out of Will.

They stayed there for a few more moments, hands clasped, before Will spoke again.

"I'm just...scared," he admitted.

"We all get scared, Will," Layla reassured him, "At least you have the courage to admit it, and do something about it. You're going to be all right, Will Stronghold," she said, winking as she removed her hands from his, standing to go, "I should get back inside before our Moms catch us out here. I'm supposed to be getting dinner started," Layla said.

"You always know what to say to make me feel better, Layla. Thanks," Will said, getting to his feet and ensconcing her in a brief, tight hug, only the second he had ever given her in her lifetime.

"That's what friends are for," Layla said into his wavy brown hair that smelled like pumpkin pie at Christmastime.

They broke apart after a few moments, Will giving a small wave as he crawled back into his room. Layla directed her hand at the ground below her, commanding a mighty oak to germinate and burgeon with amazing alacrity. A particularly strong branch sprouted from its trunk, allowing her a suitable path back to her own rooftop window, which she climbed with nimble care. As she stepped onto the roof, the tree slowly shrunk back into the ground, and she turned, looking into Will's lamp-lit room. He was dancing around the room, holding a can of spray deodorant like a microphone, crooning some horrible rock song that Layla knew she wouldn't be able to stand, could she hear it right now. She smiled, a forlornness creeping along her face as she recalled the night's events, and turned to her open window, resolving to buy some pumpkin pie scented candles at the store next weekend.


End file.
